Sepulcrum Floris
by NightSociety
Summary: "Even in death, keep me in your dreams for I will live forever." Arthur left the world of the living, leaving a distraught Alfred to fend for himself. But the American will learn that love extends beyond the grave.


**New story! Probably not the best right now because it's late *ahem*midnight*ahem* and I will revise this when I get the chance. I'm using Latin because I think it's a rather nice language to use for this particular story. Correct me if I'm wrong but 'sepulcrum floris' means 'tomb of the flower' right? Stupid translator /shot. Anyway! I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Warning: Character death, USxUK**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Bright red and blue lights filled his vision until they all suddenly faded into a single white glow, nearly blinding him. Unable to ignore the waves of anguish tearing through his body, he grimaced as the sounds of a blaring horn, metal screeching across the pavement and shattering glass were suddenly brought back to him in an agonizing rush. He grunted and tensed, immediately feeling hands press him down firmly into what he could only assume was a bed.

"A-Arthur…" he ground out, weakly pushing himself up against the hands.

He had to get to Arthur.

He just had to!

"Mr. Jones, you've been in a car accident! You're injured!" came a garbled voice as his vision shifted in and out of focus.

"Arthur… where's Arthur?" he demanded hoarsely, still fighting the nurses.

The Englishman was all that consumed Alfred's thoughts. He remembered the car accident, yes- but he also remembered Arthur's battered and broken body amongst what was left of the car on the side of the road. Catching a glimpse from the figure on the bed across the room, he stopped struggling with the nurses and drank in that image he was faced with.

There was Arthur, in all his beauty.

The Englishman was sleeping peacefully, bandages covering his marred body. Blood had seeped through the white material but Alfred paid no mind; as long as his beloved was still there, breathing faintly and a part of the world of the living.

"It's all right, Mr. Jones. He's there," one of the nurses said softly.

Alfred made a quiet noise of relief and winced when the pain caught back up with him and he had doubled over, clutching at his sore abdomen. The nurses eased him back down onto the bed, attempting to further clean his wounds when the sound they feared shrieked in the room.

The heart monitor's screamed to life with its signal indicating that Arthur had lost his own.

"Arthur!" Alfred cried and reached out as the Englishman slipped into the shadows and the nurses and hospital evaporated into nothing but air.

The black mass advanced towards the American at an alarming rate and Alfred stood frozen in place as death placed her cool lips to Alfred's cheek, mocking him, whispering her cold words that he was next.

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><p>"No! No! <em>No! <em>Get away!_" _Alfred thrashed in bed, fighting off the darkness that was aiming to consume him. He pulled at his hair, his clothes; it was burning him! It hurt! He tossed the sheets, threw pillows- doing anything and everything to prevent the abyss from sucking him in for all eternity. It was suffocating!

He couldn't breathe!

"Al! Al!" a pair of arms wrapped around him instantly in an attempt to prevent Alfred from harming himself. "It was only a dream!"

The American, now covered in a thin sheet of sweat focused on the gentle voice coaxing him into relaxation. He clung onto his savior's clothing tightly while he buried his face into said protector's neck, the warm tears crashing onto the covers.

"M-Mattie…" Alfred hiccupped.

"Shh," Matthew placed his hand atop Alfred's head and ran his fingers through the latter's hair. The Canadian proceeded with this, like a mother soothing their child. "It was only a dream… just a dream. It's all over now."

"Arthur… where's Arthur?" Alfred sobbed into Matthew's shirt as his heart clenched unbearably. "Where is he, Mattie? When is he coming home?"

Matthew remained silent and simply stared at the empty space next to the American that Arthur had originally been occupying; he took note of how his brother held onto a specific pillow he hadn't thrown rather tautly. Arthur's pillow. When Alfred asked of Arthur's whereabouts once more, Matthew replied monotonously, "I'm sure he'll be home soon. We just have to be patient and wait."

He wouldn't be able to withstand the crestfallen expression on Alfred's face if he told him that Arthur was… no longer with them. It killed him each and every day to see the American stare at the front door for hours on end, waiting for the Englishman to walk through. It killed him to know that his brother was dying. It killed him to know that was unable to do anything about it.

Alfred had shut out the accident completely and ceased to remember it.

He refused to.

"I… I'm going to ask him to marry me, Mattie. Today, when he comes home… I'm going to ask him to marry me," Alfred mumbled, his grip on Matthew's clothing had lessened considerably, acting more as a plea rather than a constrictor. "Do you… do you think he'll say yes?"

"I'm sure he will, Al."


End file.
